


Compulsion

by entanglednow



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Biting, Coercion, Community: kink_bingo, Dubious Consent, M/M, Mind Control, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-11
Updated: 2010-08-11
Packaged: 2017-10-14 12:42:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the question of consent is a thorny issue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Compulsion

Things tend to happen without explanation in Mystic Falls. Random, confusing and unexpected things. It's irritating, because random, confusing and unexpected things are hard to take advantage of. Damon thinks he's just about managed to stay ahead of the crazy curve, but it's exhausting. He has to take his diversions where he can find them.

Though he'd honestly never expected Alaric Saltzman to be quite so _diverting._ Oh, Alaric can be his own brand of confusing sometimes, but Damon's slowly discovering that he's worth it. Unexpectedly worth it.

Even if he does insist on taking Damon with him on his boy scout adventures.

He's currently emoting via facial expression against one of the bookshelves, possibly only a glass of scotch away from planning another trip to free orphans, or rescue puppies or whatever craziness is happening that desperately requires their attention. He's fairly sure Alaric shouldn’t be able to convince him into things so easily. It's no good at all for his reputation.

There's something fascinating in the moral quandaries of...people with morals. Damon pours himself a drink and doesn't even pretend he's not watching. Still, he has nothing better to do and Alaric is clearly sitting on something that's going to make him explode if he doesn't share it soon.

He waves the bottle across the room. "Will you get it over with already, you're practically vibrating."

"I was assuming you were going to suggest something to do," Alaric says slowly.

"We never do what I want to do," Damon says with a frown which may be just the slightest bit petulant. "Due to it usually being bloody, or illegal or morally dubious in some way you'd disapprove of." He sighs and takes a drink.

"We could," Alaric's voice is smooth and deceptively flat. "If you wanted to -"

Damon lowers the glass, eyes narrowed.

"If I wanted to what?"

"Do whatever you want," Alaric says.

Damon's not sure what comes first, the laugh or the disbelieving eyebrows.

"And you wouldn't protest a single minute of it, I'm sure."

"I couldn't if I had no say in it," Alaric says, far too casually.

That isn't an answer to the question. Or maybe it is.

Damon's eyes narrow again.

"You want me to compel you?"

Alaric's shoulders shift. It's not a shrug.

"I'm just saying that you could."

Damon sets the glass down on the desk. "It's not really compulsion if you give me permission."

"Isn't it?"

"Is this a thing, do you have a thing?" Damon asks, head tipped down, voice low like it's a secret.

Alaric pushes both hands into his pockets, exhales in one loud rush, and Damon's half sure that's supposed to be a distraction. Like he thinks he's admitted too much. He straightens, like he's going to leave, and Damon's stepping into his space so fast that Alaric draws back instinctively, knocking into the desk behind.

"I could make you do _anything_." It sounds more like a warning than the delicious threat he intends it to be.

Alaric shifts inside his clothes again, a resettling of his weight that feels restless, uncertain. Like he wants, but doesn’t want to admit to it. Knows how insane the idea is, even inside his own head.

Damon's not surprised he's considered it, Alaric likes to consider things. But there's a quiet line of tension there that says he's done more than consider it. Probably somewhere dark with vast quantities of alcohol. He knows, immediately, that Alaric is clean that he's holding nothing but his own skin.

"Whatever I want?" Damon says consideringly.

He licks his lips and leans in close, watches Alaric's eyes widen, then narrow, all tiny flickers of expression that mean a hundred different things.

No, no, this isn't just a thing, this is about trust.

If he wasn't so cynical Damon might even call it a leap of faith.

"Or you could leave now," Damon says, reluctantly, firmly, because this is almost too much tease to play like he has morals. He knows what he is, knows he can't help but take advantage of things that are given to him this easily.

He also knows there are some things that you have to catch while they're still a bright, reckless idea. You have to pull at them before people get the chance.

His life really has become a mess of beautiful and frustrating contradictions. There's a strong possibility Stefan has discovered some way to make himself contagious. And isn't that a horrifying thought.

"I could," Alaric says stiffly, and there's no pretending they don't know exactly what they're talking about. The fact that Alaric would even think of letting him.

Damon would probably call it trust, in another life. He'd thought he was too old and too cruel for things like that.

"Alaric," he says warningly, but there are edges enough. Long, heavy flavours of want.

Damon inhales, sharply and pins Alaric's hands to the desk.

It's easy, it's far too easy. Alaric goes under without a flicker of protest, eyes shiny and liquid. And then Damon's breathing him in from far too close, watching his face.

He can't resist lifting a hand, fingers catching the rough curve of his jaw, thumb sliding up to press on his lower lip.

"Well, this is new," Damon tells him, letting his fingertips slowly trace the curve of Alaric's mouth. "Look at you giving me free reign to misbehave."

Alaric's still like this, there's no watchful suspicion, there's no edge. He's that special flavour of quietly pliable. There's a softness there that Damon isn't sure whether he likes or not. Because he really does enjoy the way Alaric constantly tries to maintain some sort of control, even when it's obvious he's not going to win. The way he'll pull and struggle and resist until that beautiful conflicted expression is all over his face.

"Open your mouth."

Alaric obeys, there's no pause, Damon doesn't even have to exert pressure. Like consent has taken him all the way down and quietly drowned him.

"You'd let me do anything like this," Damon says carefully, fingers just barely inside the warmth of his mouth. "All your good behaviour, all your protests. I think you really just want an excuse to not be responsible. You want to blame it all on me."

He can hear the quiet rush of Alaric's breathing. But there's no protest, no resentment, just the wide, bright stare that tells him he could say anything, demand anything.

"I am very good at taking the blame for things," Damon tells him.

He lets his fingertips slide over Alaric's tongue and the sharp edges of his teeth. It's so deliciously warm in there.

"I could do so many things to you," he says slowly. He won't pretend he doesn't want to. He'd have to be completely dead.

In another decade there would have been so much blood.

"Take off your jacket," he says.

Alaric lifts his arms and lets it slip free in one smooth motion. Damon tosses it over the desk, lifts a hands and start flicking open the buttons on Alaric's shirt, sliding it open, fingers curving round his neck just far enough to shove the collar aside. He's warm under Damon's hand, all nerves and tendons and blood under the skin.

Damon tips Alaric's head, neck stretching out in one obscene curve. It's so close, close enough that he can't resist opening his mouth there, scraping blunt teeth over the skin.

There's that perfect moment of mindless surrender when Alaric hitches a breath and tips his jaw away, and for a second it feels real. Real enough that Damon's tightening his grip and snarling and it's impossible to resist.

It's one quick punch through the skin that makes all of Alaric's breath fall free in one shuddering exhale.

Alaric's sharp and alive under the skin and all different flavours of heat and pressure that curl through every nerve he owns. But underneath there's that sharp metal-bright flavour that's all Alaric's own. Damon winds an arm round Alaric's waist, holding him back against the desk, feeling the quick, hard thump of his heartbeat. Feeling that sharp, heady rush that comes when everything balances right on the edge. He knows he can go all the way, he can take _everything_ and it's so tempting, tempting in a way that leaves him tightening his fingers in Alaric's hair and considering it. Because Alaric is exactly as delicious as he'd always known he would be, and he wants it all.

He can hear the way every exhale is slightly louder than the one before, the way the air trips out of Alaric in little rushes that sound so close to sex it makes no difference. But this is pure, this is undiluted, like fire in the blood and he can feel it all the way through him.

He stops, then leaves his mouth there for a long time, feeling the thud of Alaric's pulse slow again, letting the slow trail of blood curve over the skin in impossibly erotic trails. Before he pulls away, purrs against Alaric's mouth and lays one last kiss against it, leaving a bright red smear there.

Then he lets the world snap back.

Alaric shudders and then winces, lays a hand against his bloody neck and frowns darkly at him.

"When you end up in my bed it'll be because you couldn’t resist my charms. Possibly you'll also be _tied_ to the bed. Either way, you'll probably be complaining, and I like you when you're complaining. It's more fun to make you do whatever I want that way."

Damon throws his jacket at him.

"Until then, don't be a tease."


End file.
